


A crime in the CIA

by concernedlily



Series: A simple thing [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Midlife Crisis, OCs (Kingsman staff), Undercover, upward mobility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: Harry's life has always been his work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a sequel to [For the sake of a simple thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7769770/) \- I think it can stand alone, but there are callbacks and references.
> 
> Thanks for ataraxetta, as usual, for everything <3.

“It was a crime in the CIA to ‘fall in love’ with your source, to lose objectivity…”  
\- Stephen Grey, The New Spymasters

 

"By the way," Merlin said at the close of a call to discuss specs for Harry's updated umbrella, "recruitment's to start in June for Kay. Arthur finally agreed to let Adam retire."

"Oh, did he?" said Harry.

"Eggsy Unwin finishes university in May," Merlin said.

"Oh, does he?" said Harry.

***

Some weeks later, Harry addressed an envelope with a faint, lingering sense of pique. The Rt Hon Alexander Weatherby wouldn't become Kay, but he probably wouldn't die on the first challenge and thus wouldn't shame Harry too badly.

Still. Not what he'd had in mind. Not what he'd had in mind at all. 

A bottle of champagne dispatched to arrive the evening following Eggsy's final exam, with a note inviting him, in obscure terms, to spend the summer at Kingsman's leisure. 

And then, a text back. Lovely to hear from Harry. Thanks for the champagne and the best wishes. Plans for summer already. Hope to catch up soon.

Had it been too obscure? Had Eggsy forgotten the promise of their last meeting? The four years had gone by without much to distinguish them from the previous twenty, for Harry, but Eggsy had been in a different world. 

Perhaps he simply didn't want it anymore. Years of university, of normality, growing up and away from that estate, away from what had been done to him at Baker's hands. Away from what had been done to him at Harry's. Eggsy had been spectacular at Durham, as expected. He had choices now. Harry could hardly begrudge his exercising them.

He did, though.

***

It wasn’t Alex’s fault, so he took the young man and his father, an old university friend, out for a good lunch before he brought Alex to HQ - the long way, in a Bentley borrowed for the occasion from the garage, rather than reveal the secrets of the Savile Row shop prematurely.

He took Alex up to the candidate dormitory and opened the door, mouth already open to introduce Merlin.

And there was - Eggsy. 

"Galahad!" Merlin said cheerfully, with an evil look in his eyes. "You remember Eggsy. My candidate."

" _Your_ candidate," Harry said, offended to the very depths of his black soul.

"Wotcha," Eggsy said, beaming.

"Hello," Alex said stiffly. He was looking between Harry and Eggsy with narrowed eyes. "I'm Alex. Galahad's candidate."

He put his hand out to shake Eggsy's. Eggsy did, then gave Alex an up and down look so flagrantly disrespectful, finishing with a look at Harry so elaborately astonished, that Alex flushed, Merlin coughed, and Harry had to suppress an actual laugh.

Oh dear, this boy. This dear boy.

***

"Oh, come off it," Merlin said, cutting off Harry's full and frank expression of his views. "You want him to win, don't you? So do I. He'll be a fine agent. That's why I don't want any question whatsoever that he's here on his merits. Everyone remembers what a twat you made of yourself over the lad."

"I did not," Harry said.

"You did. Anyway, I asked him as soon as Arthur signed off the position. He didn't hesitate for a second."

"Good," Harry said. "I can -"

"You can worry about your candidate and leave mine alone," Merlin said firmly. 

“Fine,” Harry said.

“I mean it.”

“I said fine.”

***

“A complete twat, yes,” James said sympathetically. “We all talked about you for months.”

“We did,” Adam confirmed. “We only stopped because James shagged about on young Savannah and she pushed him into the pond, do you remember? And then we talked about that instead.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry said, only momentarily cheered up by the memory of James standing up in the pond, spitting brackish water injuredly and covered in algae. It had been quite a new suit, and horrible; he remembered Christopher had been quietly pleased at its demise. 

“I didn't _shag about_ on her,” James protested. 

“Sorry, old boy, the court of public opinion passed sentence years ago,” Billy said. “Fancy getting him on this subject again, Adam. Shall we get back to the matter at hand? I’ll give you three to one on Alastair’s niece. She looks likely to me.”

“A woman in the ranks!” Adam said. He'd been retired for all of three weeks and had already put on half a stone and the flushed complexion of the day drinker. “A proud legacy for Kay. Arthur’s apoplectic, I suppose.”

“Oh, of course. Alastair would have been scuppered but it's so unthinkable there aren't any rules against it, so in the girl comes. He's been covertly training her up for years. Crack shot, apparently,” James said. His candidate, Jeremy, was one of the usual chinless wonders, airily good-natured and not very bright, safely towards the back of the handicapping. 

“Back up a step, you didn't say what you’re giving on Eggsy,” Harry said. 

“You're not going to back your own proposal?” Gwen said disapprovingly. “Bad form, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “I don't think he'll win.”

“Now, now,” Adam said. “All’s fair in recruitments and war.”

“These recruitments _are_ war,” Alastair said. “Have you seen Merlin’s new tasks? The man’s a sadist. I've got my eye on him.”

“You're not wrong. I remember mine like it was yesterday,” Adam said reminiscently, and James groaned and threw a crisp at him. “Oi, stop it. A tap on the shoulder, a sherry and a chat and that was it. None of this jumping through hoops.”

“The world has changed,” Harry said. His own competition had been somewhere in between; certainly not so simple as a sherry and a chat, but not the tough series of physical and mental tests Merlin had mapped out. “So has the job.”

“You haven't changed much,” Adam said. “Right, who's getting the honoured elder my next drink?”

***

Merlin flatly refused to allow Harry into the pick-up room behind the two-way mirror in the dorm. Harry watched on CCTV instead, a large-screen television showing with watery clarity how Eggsy prioritised finding a way out, recognised the possible escape hatch and punched through the mirror while his competitors breathed clean air and watched. 

And how he grabbed Roxy mid-swim and pointed her to the ‘struggling’ Amelia. Harry had watched the proposals gather, the testy introductions where the rest of the young masters of the universe had made it clear they were prepared to accept Eggsy, in the scholarship-boy sort of way where he would never be allowed to forget their charity; Eggsy seemed to have thrown in his lot with Roxy and Amelia instead, having an easier time with the commonality of their difference.

Harry welcomed Amelia into the staging room, their colleague having been separated from the group of would-bes on the excuse of needing a medical check-up. She divested herself of the slimline rebreathing equipment with a disgruntled look, dropped it on the bed and accepted the towel he handed her with muttered thanks and a peevish, “I’ve got so much work on. I only volunteered because I thought the little buggers’d leave me for dead and I’d be home tomorrow.”

“Merlin will get you out,” Harry said. “Maybe you can fake a deathly allergy to dogs. So - what did you think of him?”

She rubbed the towel over her hair in a way that suggested she was buying time. “He seemed all right,” she said in the end, cautiously.

“ _All right?_ ” Harry said. “He saved your life! In a manner of speaking.”

She put down the towel and raised her eyebrows at him. “What?”

“He means my candidate,” Merlin said dryly, coming through the door and chucking his clipboard on the table. “He doesn’t actually care about his own candidate.”

“Oh, right,” she said, with a curious look at him, so at least Harry wasn’t the subject of craven international gossip as well as domestic. “Eggsy - well, as you said, he was the only one who spotted me, wasn’t he? And the only one with any initiative, I suppose the rest would have just stayed there until the walls caved in. He seems decent. Strong, too. The way he punched through that glass with no top on, goodness.”

“Control yourself,” Merlin said severely. Harry tried to look only mildly interested, but the moments she was referring to were emblazoned on his brain as well, and replaying rather insistently. Merlin cast him a forbidding look and said, “I just need to have a quick chat with Amelia, but don’t let us keep you, Harry.”

“Of course,” Harry said, with dignity. “Good luck tomorrow, Amelia. I hope you’re home soon.”

“Will you go away so I can finish off and go to bed,” Merlin pleaded, and Harry scarpered.

***

Harry abused his privileges as senior staff the next day to flick through the cameras that saturated the house and grounds until he found Eggsy. He was lying in the rose garden, playing with the puppy he’d chosen, a sweet absurd little thing Harry had found himself spending quite a bit of time with when he’d visited the kennels over the last couple of weeks. When Harry strolled in and over to him Eggsy turned his face up to Harry, beaming with the simple joy of being newly besotted.

“Have you come to meet my dog?” he said, giving said recipient of his adoration a loving gaze and a little cluck of the tongue that the puppy answered with a delighted try at a bark.

“I have,” Harry said. He inspected the grass, and finding it acceptable lowered himself to a sitting position. The puppy tottered over to him immediately. Harry fed him one of the treats he’d put in his pockets for this express purpose and the puppy climbed into his lap, his ungainly little bottom waddling and wagging, and nestled down while Harry stroked him.

“I’m calling him JB,” Eggsy said. He was looking at Harry with soft openness, that smile still touching at the edges of his mouth, his body a stocky relaxed line in the terrible tartan boiler suit.

He really was extraordinarily lovely. Harry had never allowed himself to properly see the potential for it that had been there when Eggsy was seventeen, eighteen, but he looked at Eggsy now and let himself be enchanted by Eggsy’s wide hazel-green eyes, the fine strength of his face.

He looked down and took a breath, mastering himself. When he looked up again Eggsy had rolled to his back and was reaching up to one of the deep pink roses waving gently over his head; they seemed to be reflecting a touch of flush to his cheekbones. Harry asked, “What made you choose him?”

Eggsy shrugged against the grass. “He came over to me, I liked him. Hey, yeah, you had a dog? Mr Pickle, yeah?”

“Yes,” Harry said, pleased and flattered he’d remembered, although to be honest people were always telling him that having a stuffed dog in his bathroom was really quite odd. “And yes, he was the dog I chose when I was a Kingsman candidate.” He deliberated for a moment and then added, casually, “He was a good companion for many years. Died of pancreatitis, in the end. That’s purebreds for you. My father would only have mongrels, when I was young.”

“I never had pets,” Eggsy said carelessly. His voice was interesting; at some point during his schooling he’d clearly learned to lift it to something just near enough to RP to pass and just far enough to flaunt pride in his origins, but as he spoke to Harry he seemed to be falling back to the modern urban rhythms of his natural accent. Harry looked down at the dog on his knee, fed him another treat and let JB gnaw his fingers with his sharp little teeth. “You’re gonna make my dog fat.”

“You’ll both be busy enough to work it off,” Harry said wryly.

Eggsy smiled and stretched slowly. The sun was slanting across his face, painting him warm gold, and flashing off the little horn buttons of the top of the suit; it was warm enough Harry was starting to think seriously about considering taking his jacket off. “I’m used to being busy.”

“So I saw,” Harry said. “Rowing, UOTC, and still a First. Well done. Chemistry’s not an easy degree.”

“When I started, they said, the two Socs that wreck your degree, rowing and theatre,” Eggsy said lazily. “I thought, fuck that, you know? Wanted to show them all I deserved to be there.”

“There are worse motivators,” Harry said. JB made a little yelp and Harry lifted him off his lap and back onto the grass to go and nose at Eggsy’s outflung hand. He quite missed the squirming little weight; there was something wonderfully calming about the small victory of keeping a puppy content for a few minutes.

“Yeah?” Eggsy said. He grinned up at the sky. He was unmistakably older now, face chiselling out manhood, but he somehow looked younger than when Harry had known him before: looser, more sure of himself, less of the watchful surliness like his back expected a knife at any moment. Kingsman would return some of that paranoia to him, probably, and it would be a pity. “Is you about to give me a motivational speech?”

“I can if you like,” Harry said. “Let’s see. If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, once more unto the breach dear friends, let’s all get our throats cut boys, et cetera et cetera. Will that do?”

Eggsy said, “I don’t need it. I _know_ I deserve to be here.”

***

To celebrate the start of the competition, Arthur had issued a dinner summons to all active agents in London, plus Adam, who was technically drawing his pension but was still hanging around most days, and every pub day without fail. Kingsmen never really retired, just stopped missions: George still visited the shop once a week, when he wasn't in the South of France, and he was ninety if he was a day. 

Thankfully someone had talked the old man down from dinner jackets and bow ties, so they were all arrayed like a police line-up of white-collar crime, all pinstripe and matching ties. “God, you're letting yourself go,” James was saying to Adam as Harry walked out of the fitting room and onto the shop floor. 

“Not so much I can't still give you a clout round the head, you impertinent little cretin,” Adam said amiably. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, nice to see you,” Harry said. It was true that the shirt and jacket Adam was wearing were visibly struggling at the buttons, but it wasn't very nice of James to say so. “Who else are we expecting?”

“Percival has been sent away at short notice, Sir,” Christopher said smoothly from behind the counter. “I'm expecting Caradoc. Elyan, Gawain and Pelleas are still on their active missions.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. 

“Is Mark still insisting he's a bloody vegetarian?” Adam said. “Dorothy was very offended he declined her foie gras. She raised the goose herself and he had a better life than I do.”

“You'd better hope she's not fattening you up for your liver,” James said. “I agree, actually. A man needs red meat to do our job.”

“It hasn't done him any harm yet,” Harry said wearily. “Christopher, is Mark still a vegetarian?”

Christopher inclined his head and said respectfully, “Chef has stuffed a mushroom, Galahad.”

“Glad I already ate, then,” Mark said, stepping through the door like a man attending his own funeral. “Do you know, this is the first formal dinner I'll have had with Arthur in six years? I was so proud of that streak. I was in a coma for the last one and it was well worth it.”

“I like having dinner with Arthur,” James said. “He brings out the really good wines.”

“It's because he sees you as the son he never had,” Mark said sweetly. “Just like himself, but younger and not as good looking.”

“I can cope with that if it means I get the 1961 Petrus, old boy,” James said. “I think this is us, isn't it? Shall we go up?”

Chester welcomed them with a long and uninteresting speech about new blood and the fine old traditions of Kingsman. Adam nobly took the duty of being the one to nod along with utmost attention, while James cleaned his fingernails with the butter knife under the table and Mark, who had an eidetic memory, had the slightly glazed look that meant he was looking at something more interesting. 

Finally the wine was uncorked and the Kingsman toast given, the first course arrived, and Chester opened some gentle conversation on the subject of Adam’s retirement. Harry already knew all of Adam’s plans for his garden in more detail than he'd really cared to have, and applied himself to his tomato soup.

As four gently crackling pork bellies and one forlorn stuffed mushroom arrived, Chester steered the discussion to the recruits.

“The son of an old schoolfriend,” Harry said, vaguely. “I don't know him well.”

Chester gave him a hard look. Harry gazed back placidly and took another large drink of wine.

“And this one of Percival’s,” Chester said, frowning. He stabbed at his dinner like it had done something personally offensive. “A _young lady_.”

“An exceptional young lady, to be fair,” James said. “Alastair’s had her in mind for us for years. She’ll make a handler if she doesn't quite cut it as an agent. She's much better than my boy. He's got a good sense of humour but he's basically a lump.”

“A girl,” Chester said, as if the thought was so shocking he was stuck on it. 

“I hear they're even allowed to vote, these days,” Mark said. He'd eaten his mushroom in about three bites and was gazing covetously at Harry's potato gratin. 

Harry moved his fork into prime jabbing position as a precaution and said, “There's no rules against it, and really no reason not to accept women. The Statesmen have a woman in charge, for God’s sake.”

Chester sniffed. “Yes, well, Americans. Hardly an example by which one would wish to be led.”

Harry gazed at the example before him by which he did not wish to be led, and emptied his wine glass. “You're a dinosaur, Arthur,” he said. 

“A traditionalist,” Chester said fussily. “Who does not wish to see change for change’s sake.”

“Mm, yes, well,” James said, offering his remaining potato to Mark. “Did anyone see yesterday’s Test results? Bit of an upset, I thought.”

“Well, and what about young Eggsy?” Adam said, ignoring him, with an innocent look to Chester and a mischievous one to Harry. 

“Such an odd name,” Chester said, frowning over his water glass. “We don't often get a boy where the codename would be an improvement.”

Harry looked at Adam, who looked at James, who looked back to Harry. Chester clearly had no idea who Eggsy was, or where Merlin - Kingsman - had found him. Harry had to hand it to Merlin: his slow strangulation of Chester’s power base and influence got worse, or better depending on how one looked at it, everyday. 

“Eggsy Unwin,” James said, and when Chester looked completely blank, and before Harry could stamp heavily on his foot, “Unwin? Harry's spy, on the Baker and Le Rouge op with the Met a few years ago?”

The memory grew in Chester by degrees; Harry could more or less see it spread from his fist clenching white around the water glass to his lips pursing tightly, and wondered whether the actually quite gratifying glint of dawning horror in his eyes was from remembering Eggsy's origins, or the prostitution. 

“The low class boy with the criminal stepfather? To be a Kingsman?” Chester said faintly, groping for his wineglass and draining it. Andy stepped forward from his unobtrusive perch at the side of the room and topped them all off. Chester drained half of that one too, in one gulp, and while it was no ‘61 Petrus it deserved better than that. Harry was quite concerned to see Chester’s hand was trembling, the wine sloshing the sides of the glass the tiniest bit. He gave Andy a quick look and he stepped forward again and filled Chester’s water glass, nudging it slightly towards him. 

“He has been at a very good university,” James said prosaically. “You wouldn't know. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't known. I've put money on him.”

“So have I,” said Adam. 

“I haven't,” Mark said, looking disgruntled. “I was in bloody South Africa and Alastair assured me Roxanne was an absolute cert. Nobody tells me anything.”

“Oh,” Chester said. Some of the colour was coming back into his face. “Well. If he's been mixing with the right sort… if he's determined to better himself…”

Mark said soothingly, “I don't know about the _right_ sort, but my proposal recognised him. Glorious Twelfth party in Gloucestershire a couple of years ago, or something.”

“You don't get much more traditional than that,” Harry said, privately slightly appalled. “If he can pass the tests and wear the suit, I really don't see the harm. We could do with some new ideas round the place. And he's here now.”

Chester was looking calmer, as if he'd managed to fit Eggsy's existence comfortably into his world view. Or going by his increasing flush, necking back the wine had just gone to his head. “You're right, Galahad. If the young man proves his mettle… some people simply are meant for better things. I myself was a grammar school boy, of course.”

James choked on his wine. Adam said, “Er… what?”

“The school had never sent anyone to Oxford before,” Chester said absently. “You know, gentlemen, I rather think I might retire. I'm feeling a bit - much.”

They all got to their feet automatically with a chorus of goodnights as Chester wobbled a slow way out of the dining room. Harry dropped back into his seat, sunk the rest of his glass, and watched Mark eat the rest of his green beans, never a man to let an opportunity go to waste. 

“Well, it just goes to show, doesn't it,” Adam said philosophically. “You think you know a man.”

“Explains rather a lot,” James said. Harry was inclined to agree; Chester’s _I'm alright, Jack_ attitude was one he absolutely disdained but it was mildly more palatable coming from anxiety rather than privilege. “Gosh. Shall we have pudding? You can have his, Andy. Have a sit down.”

***

The third day was physical tests: a ten mile run before 8am, the obstacle course over and over until everyone had a sub-three minute time, a series of intervals specifically intended to send the recruits staggering off the field to throw up, and another eight mile run to round the whole thing off. Amelia failed them handily - whether faked or genuinely, Harry wasn't sure - and went back to Berlin to her research lab. It was nothing Eggsy wouldn't have dealt with as part of his military cadet training, and he and the rest of the recruits sailied through without even that much whining. 

Harry didn't see any of it, because he had been despatched to Aberdeen, where he was running surveillance on a probably-crooked oil executive and also hating Merlin with every ounce of energy he had spare from that thrilling endeavour.

“This is an abuse of power,” he said. 

“I know, I know,” Gwen said over his comms, distractedly. 

“You're not listening to me.”

“Well, if you've nothing new to say, Harry… I've got logistics to change your hotel, by the way, and if you want to talk abuses of power, there was nothing wrong with the original one.”

“I didn't like it,” Harry said, not that she was wrong. “Anyway, at this rate I'll be sleeping in the fucking car. Are you absolutely sure about this man? So far all he seems guilty of is a vulgar taste in hanging baskets.”

“My heart bleeds,” Gwen said. “Shut up and surveil.”

***

It turned out a little more exciting than Harry had thought. He staggered off the helicopter, waved away the offered wheelchair in a bitter fury, and limped and wheezed his way up to medical under his own steam. 

“Be nice, Galahad, and I'll give you a lollipop and a sticker when I've finished,” Julia said, wielding a stethoscope in his general direction. “Oh dear, not the knee again.”

“A minor sprain,” Harry said. “And one or two bruised ribs. I'll be right as rain in no time.”

“I know what _that_ means,” she said. “Kneecap about to drop off and three ribs broken at least. Just lie back and let me have a look.”

He submitted ungraciously to the examination and the prescription, physio for the knee and rest for the rest, and allowed the nurses to bring him a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. 

“So you'll be off-duty and restricted to the estate for the foreseeable future,” Merlin said, suspiciously, when Harry called in to report status. 

Harry brightened. “I suppose I will, won't I?”

“You've done this on purpose,” Merlin said, with conviction that happened on this case to be wrong; Harry was prepared to admit he'd probably earnt the lack of benefit of the doubt, but at this stage of his life he wasn't going to fuck about with his knees. “Stay away from my recruits, Harry.”

“Of course I will,” Harry lied. 

Merlin made a despairing noise and hung up on him; and as if his rancour had summoned the man himself, Harry heard Eggsy out in the wide hall. 

Harry had been told to stay off the leg as much as possible for a few days, but he found himself hobbling to the door anyway. Looking bloody awful, as well, torn jacket already whisked away for repair or replacement, tie loose and top two buttons undone, white shirt stained and sleeves rolled up. 

All was vanity, and yet something about Eggsy's voice felt magnetic. 

He leaned in the doorway, trying not to look as old and beaten up as he felt, and said, “Hello.”

“Harry!” Eggsy said, turning to him, delighted, and then, “ _Harry_ , Jesus fuck. You okay? What happened?”

“A minor disagreement on a minor operation, nothing to worry about,” Harry said smoothly. He smiled and watched the tension ease out of Eggsy. Did he dislike seeing people a bit bruised and battered, given his history, or was it Harry in particular? He wanted to think the latter, not only because Kingsman would make an uncomfortable life for him if it wasn't. 

“You should be sitting down,” Eggsy said, his face sweetly anxious. 

“My dear boy, you're making me think I look anything but marvellous,” Harry said. “I could become offended,” and pretended not to see Ben, the nurse Eggsy had been speaking with, rolling his eyes behind Eggsy. The endearment hadn't been intentional, but now it was out, and Eggsy smiling back at him, he wasn't going to say anything to retract it; Eggsy looked pleased at the tenderness, more pleased at the light teasing. Had he ever teased Eggsy, Before? He rather thought he wouldn't have done. He asked, “What are you here for?” 

“Nothing, hayfever medicine,” Eggsy said dismissively. “Sneezed the whole way through that fucking second run.”

“Or he's allergic to the dog,” Ben offered. 

“I am _not_ allergic to my dog,” Eggsy said indignantly, pulling JB’s lead to bring him back from sniffing the nurses’ station and bending to scoop him up. “And even if I was, it don't matter, does it, JB? I got tablets. Who's a good puppy? Who's a good boy?”

Harry felt his expression becoming ridiculously fond, and got himself under control. Eggsy glanced up at him with a pale shining hope and then he was stepping close and spilling wriggling puppy into Harry's arms, the backs of his hands brushing Harry's chest, warm. The movement jarred Harry's sore ribs; he barely felt the pain.

“There,” Eggsy said, surveying them both with satisfaction. “He’ll make you feel better. Everyone feels better after puppy cuddles.”

Harry clutched JB close and said, “I don't have any treats for him today.”

“That's okay,” Eggsy said, and grinned. “You don't have to give him treats for him to like you.”

“No?” Harry said. He allowed Eggsy to herd him unsubtly into his room and back onto the bed, only admitting that it was nice to have the weight off his leg and to be resting upright again once he was there. It was even nicer to be fussed over, which he usually detested, for Eggsy to help him settle JB on his lap and plump a pillow behind his back and ask Ben for more tea. 

It made him think of something and when Eggsy had finally sat down in the chair next to his bed like he intended to be there all night, he ventured, “Your mother, she's well? She had a girl, I believe?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said, sounding surprised. “Yeah, God, is it really that long? Mum’s fine, Daisy’s really good. She's nearly four now. Got an answer for everything. They're still up by Newcastle.”

“Good, good,” Harry said. The next bit felt more awkward and difficult than it should have been. “Then they're - you’re - things have worked out? You've been all right.”

“Yeah, we’ve been all right,” Eggsy said. He looked soft and vivid, like talking about his family put him on another plane, finer and happier. Harry stroked JB, who seemed to have grasped finally that Harry wasn't going to feed him this time, and definitely not people biscuits, and was sulking in a little furry pile in his lap. Eggsy added, “She’s not sure what I'm doing here, though. Bit of a surprise for her, I done a chemistry degree then announced I was going to do work experience with a tailor.”

“Was it disappointing for her?” Harry said. 

“Nah, I told her it was pretty normal,” Eggsy said. “It's a posh tailor, innit? Not like she knows much what you're supposed to do after uni. Few years ago she probably thought she'd be lucky if I ever got a job doing anything.”

There was something inward-looking about the way he said it. Something a bit frustrated, and a bit sad. Harry said only, “Ah, I see. And - how are you finding it, so far? The recruitment?”

“Good, yeah,” Eggsy said, perking up. “I got my eye on you lot, though, after that water thing. That were bang out of order.” He sounded rather gleeful about it, as if despite the words he'd reframed the experience in his memory as something daring and exhilarating rather than terrifying, which was a handy kind of self-delusion to have, and common enough around Kingsman. He added, “You got any tips to give me? What's coming up?”

“I don't actually know,” Harry said, more or less honestly. He knew the highlights but Merlin played his cards close to his chest by habit; Harry was getting his updates from Sarah, who was handling all the logistical arrangements for the competition tasks and was willing to share them for the judicious and regular application of Charbonnel et Walker pink champagne truffles, but even she didn't know exactly what was coming up and when. “This is the first recruitment in about seventeen years, things change. Anyway, that depends how long you stay, doesn't it?”

“I'm going all the way, don't you worry about that, mate,” Eggsy said, and then, self-consciously, “I ain't going to let you down, Harry.”

“It's not about letting me down,” Harry said. He caught Eggsy's gaze and held it, knowing he was being ridiculously fond again but unable to help it. Eggsy looked back at him as if he were enchanted, as if Harry's opinion really did matter to him. “You're here because you'd be an asset to this organisation. We need good people.”

“If you say so,” Eggsy said, looking cautiously pleased and thoughtful. “You've got a bit of a shower of knobs down there, though, so you better hope it is me.”

“Is anybody giving you any trouble?” Harry said. 

“It's fine,” Eggsy said. “I'm used to rahs making the place look untidy. No, it's Rox, more. Last woman standing. But she gives as good as she gets.”

“As long as you're content you can handle it,” Harry said, drawing out the implicit offer. 

“Yeah, it's okay. So what you been doing then? Saved the world? Any more of - you know, like with me?”

“No. No, you were… unique. But I have saved the world, actually. Or at least Queen and country.” JB had gone to sleep in his lap, his snuffling a comfortable, domestic counterpoint to their conversation.

“Oh yeah?” Eggsy said. He gave Harry a brazen look from under his lashes and Harry’s breath caught for a moment, charmed despite himself. “How many times?”

“Twice if I’m modest.”

Eggsy laughed. “You’re modest, are you?”

“A gentleman is always modest,” Harry said primly. 

“Go on then,” Eggsy said, and swung his feet up onto Harry’s bed, toes nudging up against Harry’s calf. “Tell me a story ‘bout how you saved the world.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I didn't think he was such a lump he wouldn't last the fortnight,” James said, frowning over his pint. “It's letting the side down just a bit, isn't it, failing the sodding written test. He went to Eton, for Christ’s sake.”

“Lucky he can read and write at all then,” Alastair said, and winked at Harry, Harrovian to Wykehamist. 

“Less of the insults to the old school tie,” Adam said. “Don't let’s have to have another fencing contest.”

“I’ve nothing to worry about with a fencing contest, I won the last one,” Billy said.

“You did _not_ ,” Ben said. “Gwen!”

“Pool paid out on Mark,” Gwen said, in the manner of a hungover vicar giving a Sunday sermon on the sins of the flesh. “Sorry, Billy.”

“Speaking of the pool, did anyone actually have young Jeremy?” Harry said. “There used to be a small consolation prize for anyone backing the first one to go out.”

“I backed him,” James said, because he was many things and not many of them noble, but he was loyal: Harry had always appreciated that about him. 

“Gwen?”

“Oh, every man here owes you a drink, James. I’m sure you’ll remember,” she said, and then with a certain smirkiness, “Eggsy Unwin, though, _Harry_...”

“I’m not going to have this,” Harry said, flatly, and everyone around the table gave him a swift sobered glance. “No, I won’t. Whatever Eggsy is or was or has been, he’s doing well in this competition, and he has as much right to your respect as any of the others.”

There was a brief accepting silence. Then: “I don’t respect any of the others,” Adam said. “Perhaps they should accept the Kay name will never be bettered and retire it.”

Ben said, “The Pelleas before me died saving two royal children from certain death. Literally died in the act. Heroically. They didn’t even bloody retire that, what did you actually ever do?”

“A good point, well made,” Adam said, tipping his pint glass to Ben in acknowledgement. “Let the record reflect I withdraw the remark.”

“Your round in penance,” Gwen decreed, and James cut in, “Not counting as the one you owe me, Adam, I know what you’re like,” and on the conversation went.

***

Eggsy’s 22nd birthday fell about a month into the competition. Harry personally saw to it that Michelle Unwin’s slightly confusedly but lovingly addressed parcel and card made it unscathed through the Byzantine paranoia of the Kingsman post room and left it on Eggsy’s bed for him to find that evening.

He left a token of his own, too, wrapped only in a brown paper bag. It was a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Harry’s own, and his mother’s schoolgirl book before him, filled with both of their notes and underlinings and wistful youthful imaginings.

Eggsy didn’t acknowledge it when they passed one another in the hall the next morning, but Harry found a note, later, post-itted to the surface of his desk in his locked office; simply, _thank you_.

***

Harry knocked briefly and didn’t wait for an invite before going into Merlin’s office.

“Two minutes,” Merlin said, glancing up at him. Harry sat in his usual armchair and arranged his papers in front of him. It was a standard research briefing, with his recommendation to continue along the lines of tracing the missing arms shipments neatly on the top: Nas had done some sterling work patiently following the money through shell companies and offshore accounts and laundering fronts, but Harry needed a little more to go on before having somewhere to go and something to do, and he wasn’t entirely sure that having the digital division disrupt the flow of money from afar wasn’t the simplest way forward; such was the march of time.

Merlin was taking a long time. Harry got up and went to nose shamelessly at his screen over his shoulder. He was walking normally now, certainly in company, but it would be another few weeks of physio before she’d be comfortable certifying him for fieldwork. Usually Harry would have been complaining bitterly by now and petitioning for a quicker result, but he was contriving to run into Eggsy four times a week at least and that was keeping him more than happy to be stuck at the estate. 

“Are those Eggsy's results?” he said, and bent to read more closely. 

Merlin sighed but let him. “All of their results. Eggsy needs a bit of practice with the handgun, but his marksmanship is excellent. Toby's going to have to go though, I think. He's not getting any better, he almost took out Simon yesterday while he was pruning the hedge.”

“Maybe Simon shouldn't have been in the way.”

“He wasn't.”

“Cut him, then,” Harry said, stealing a gulp of Merlin’s overstewed tea. “I'm not sure you haven't overcomplicated things just a tad. Everyone knows who the frontrunners are by now. You're just dragging it out.”

“Everything they're doing is testing vital skills,” Merlin said. 

“Well, there is such a thing as on the job learning,” Harry pointed out. “If they're not resourceful enough to do that they'll never make it anyway.”

“Doesn't mean we can't start them in the best possible position,” Merlin said oppressively. “Anyway, I know you're just thinking the sooner he's an agent the sooner you can make your move.”

“And so what if I am?” Harry said and Merlin looked at him properly, more serious and more concerned than Harry had been expecting. 

“Nothing, I suppose,” Merlin said eventually. “Harry… are you sure it's a good idea?”

“If it isn't he’ll make it known and we’ll be colleagues and friends,” Harry said. “You're not worried I can't be professional in the face of rejection, I assume? Because I can assure you -”

Merlin said, “No. I'm not worried about that. Or him, no. Oh, never mind, you were probably due a midlife crisis, he’s better than a bright red Ferrari.”

“How dare you?” Harry said. “My midlife crisis car will be British racing green, naturally.”

Merlin gave him a reluctant smile. “What is it you're here to talk about? Nas’ LM Industries research? Come on, then.”

***

Harry slipped into the library quite late one evening, and didn't pretend it was a surprise to find Eggsy curled in one of the cracked brown leather chairs, one leg flung over the arm and JB snoozing on his other foot on the floor, a book open on his knee. 

He _was_ surprised when Eggsy went pink when he saw Harry. He leaned on the edge of the desk next to Eggsy and reached for the book, slowly enough for Eggsy to object if he liked. 

“You still have this,” he said with pleasure. His mother’s old Montaigne felt familiar in his hands, the leather as worn and well-used and loved as the chairs, the scent of the paper rich with age.

“Well, yeah,” Eggsy said. He sounded bright with embarrassment but when Harry beamed down at him he gave a blinking smile back.

“Do you read it?” Harry asked. “Other than now, I suppose.” He’d slipped his hand in between the pages automatically, holding Eggsy’s place, the pages smooth and cool under his fingertips.

“Not as much now,” Eggsy admitted. “But - I mean, yeah. Every night, my first year. He’s always got something that helps, hasn’t he? I just used to let it fall open and read wherever it came up. Helped me sleep.”

“I used to use it in a similar way,” Harry told him. “They’re just the right length for before bed, aren’t they?”

Eggsy’s gaze up at him turned speculative, heated. Harry hadn’t meant to be suggestive, but he wasn’t sorry to be taken so; he held the book out for Eggsy to take back and when Eggsy’s fingers brushed deliberately against his he let the touch linger for a moment before he let the book go.

“Are you having trouble sleeping now?” Harry said.

“Sometimes,” Eggsy said. “Only ‘cause Ferdy snores like a fucking train, though.”

“Learning to sleep through that will stand you in good stead later,” Harry said wryly. “It’s not all glamour, you know. I’ve spent more nights in tents next to colleagues grunting like pigs than I care to remember.”

“Bet you have,” Eggsy murmured.

“Behave,” Harry said, but he let his tone be caressing, playful; he let his expression say the opposite, and watched Eggsy blossom under it.

***

Alastair came in and put an unopened bottle of Delamain Le Voyage on the desk. “For me? How kind,” Harry said, sitting back and picking the bottle up to admire against the light. “Do you want a glass? And do you want to just ask now for whatever it is you’re wanting to bribe out of me? I’ve got to get this report up to Merlin by four.” The latest on Nas’ money laundering case, which was progressing all very nicely and Harry was barely having to do anything but nod it on through, which in one sense was quite restful and in another extremely dull.

“Is it due at four?” Alastair said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Well, four last Friday, at any rate. There should be a corkscrew in that top drawer.” He banged the top of the bottle gently against his desk to loosen the wax and picked at it with the letter opener, then took the corkscrew Alastair had rummaged through the drawer for and opened the armagnac, leaving it to breathe for a few moments.

Alastair fetched glasses from Harry’s sideboard, put Harry’s briefcase on the floor and sat on the visitor’s chair. “I want to add a new position to the Table. Can I count on your vote with Arthur?”

“Ah,” Harry said. He poured them both a glass and they both enjoyed the first peaty-rich sip. “I’m told your niece is doing very well in the competition.”

“So is Eggsy,” Alastair said. “I’m told.”

He smiled a sharp-toothed smile at Harry. Harry smiled one back, knocked his drink down in one, and said, “Certainly you may count on my vote.”

***

Harry’s gym routine was almost back to normal. Another week or so and his knee would be completely reliable again, finally, and he could be back on active duty. The arms op was fizzling out though, in the capable hands of Nas and the hacking skills of Molly in the systems team, and he wasn't sure how quickly he’d actually be sent out. 

Which was fine with him. There were six recruits left now, including both Eggsy and Alex, but the skydive test - a classic, and every agent had demanded it be kept, on the basis that they’d had to suffer so why shouldn’t the new crop have to - was in a couple of weeks and that always cut through the unworthy like a sharpened umbrella spike through flesh. Eggsy and Roxy were leading the pack comfortably; he was working on Chester about the new position and Alastair was working on their fellow Knights: it would all come out in the wash. 

The door opened and Harry glanced over to see Eggsy and Roxy coming in. It was early morning, and otherwise empty. Eggsy looked grouchy and tired, purple smudging under his eyes as it had when he was younger, although he was far less sharp and much better taken care of now; Harry supposed he would simply always be one of those people whose stress smeared across their face. Eggsy brightened, when he saw Harry, though, and came straight over to say hello. 

“Good morning,” Harry said, smiling. “Hello, Roxy.”

“Hi, Harry,” she said, looking between him and Eggsy in a way that suggested things slotting into place. He'd met her a few years ago, at Alastair’s fortieth birthday party; she’d been just about to go up to Cambridge and they'd had a nice chat about the Tripos and Fitzwilliam College, where she’d been admitted. It had also been the first time Harry had met Alastair’s sister, Roxy’s mother, a glossy bitter-eyed woman who'd been glued to her boorish husband’s side all night and done in the better part of two bottles of champagne to herself. 

“Are these your workout clothes?” Eggsy said. His gaze ran up and down Harry’s body and Harry stood a little straighter. 

“Yes, what's wrong with them?” he said, looking down at himself. He didn't go in for neons or lycra or any of that flashy business: his exercise clothes were black and grey, the trousers cut very like his suit trousers, and the t-shirt slimly and neatly fitted. He ran a hand along his flat stomach and Eggsy's eyes followed. 

“Nothing,” Eggsy said, slightly strangled. “Nothing wrong with them.”

Roxy looked at him in disbelief and said, “I'm going to start warming up.”

“Oh, don't let me keep you from your workout,” Harry said. He himself had been about finished, but instead he went over to the other end of the expansive gym, away from the machines and to the weapons cabinet. He threw the doors wide and stood in contemplation of the many and varied practice things before he selected a beautifully balanced set of throwing knives. A little-utilised skill but still good to keep one’s hand in, and - well. He'd never claimed not to enjoy being appreciated. Kingsman was silent and hidden to the public, as it should be, so all he had was the approbation of his peers.

He pulled the case out and went to take position a reasonable distance from the targets mounted to the wall: a dartboard, an archery target, a lifesize person-shaped target with the face being a photo of Dave the Gym, which probably meant he'd called James lazy again. 

He glanced over towards Eggsy and Roxy and had a slightly strangled moment of his own as he realised Eggsy had taken his t-shirt off and was lifting weights bare chested, saying something to Roxy and laughing as they did rhythmic lunges. It was quite different seeing him here, rather than on the screen as the water test had been; he was beautifully formed, Harry had known that, solid and muscled, but the camera hadn't caught the pale luminosity of his skin, or the spectacular easy grace of the way he moved. 

Eggsy sneaked a look over; he looked hilariously put out for a moment to have been caught at it, and then he grinned as he must have realised that Harry had been looking back, to have seen him. 

Well, he wasn't the only one who could do something worth looking at it. Eggsy said something to Roxy, she looked round, and Harry turned back to his targets and threw. 

The first knife went a little off-centre, Harry finding the way of it again; and two three four perfectly in the bullseye, and then Harry flipped the fifth into his other hand and threw from there. It was another one off-centre, but close enough that had it been an enemy he'd have done fatal damage. 

There was enthusiastic applause from behind him. Harry acknowledged Eggsy's interest with a quick wave, and allowed himself a smug smile as he collected his knives and went back to try again. 

When he'd finished he put the knives away and wandered back over to the gym section of the hall. Roxy had moved onto the machines but Eggsy was still on the free weights, deadlifting his own bodyweight with apparent ease. 

“Mind if I finish off my stretching here?” he asked, letting his gaze linger appreciatively on the way rising sweat was making the definition of Eggsy's chest and stomach gleam. JB was curled with Roxy’s dog, an elegant black poodle, but he gambolled over to say hello when Harry came close and Harry bent to scritch his ears and tickle his belly when JB rolled over with joy at seeing him.

“Yeah, no, go for it,” Eggsy said hastily. He was breathing hard, tousled, touched with effort that made him flushed and smiling: it was an unreasonably good look for him. “That was dead good, Harry. S’that your thing, knives? You ain't taken us for any tutoring yet.”

“Not with my knee, no,” Harry said. “In the next week or two, though, hopefully.”

“He already asked Merlin about it, didn’t you, Eggsy?” Roxy called over.

“Oh?” Harry said, watching with fascination the way Eggsy got a little deeper pink. “And what did he tell you is my specialty as an agent?”

“Er,” Eggsy said.

“Undignified brawling!” Roxy said on an explosive outbreath. She had a great deal of strength, Harry noted, looking at the weight she was training, and thought again how ridiculous Arthur’s objections to her were. The kind of damage she could do, looking so deceptively fragile; if Kingsman’s founders had had any sense they’d have just started with the women who were so plentiful after the world wars, and sod the men. Half a dozen Roxys could have ruled the world.

“Undignified is a bit hurtful,” Harry said. “But close quarters combat, yes. Hand-to-hand, blades, that sort of thing. I’m afraid it’s not much of a specialty. All agents have to be able to manage themselves in a fight.”

“Well, there’s managing and there’s _good_ , innit,” Eggsy said, and the gaze he rested on Harry was both pleasantly proprietary, as if in response to Harry’s self-deprecation, and hungry. 

“Soon,” Harry said softly, and the look he got in response to _that_ made him have to take several steps away to a free bit of mat and start his stretching, or give Roxy a sight she wouldn’t fast forget.

***

“Leodegrance,” James said, peering at his phone and eating another bite of sausage roll.

“I think not,” Harry said.

“I had a cousin called Leodegrance,” Adam said. “He poisoned his wife.”

James looked away from his sausage roll and then glared at Alastair as he swiped it. “Really?”

“No, but it sounds like what someone called Leodegrance would do, doesn’t it? I agree with Harry, it won’t do.”

Alastair broke off a bit of his purloined snack neatly and said, “I don’t think you actually get a vote. You’ve retired.”

“It’s still my position until the competition’s over,” Adam said, roundly offended. “Why should Kay not get a vote just because I’m off the clock? I haven’t even had my party yet.”

“Lucan,” James said.

“As in, Lord Lucan?” Harry said, finishing his pint and collecting orders via swift nods from every man present.

“Well, point taken, Harry, but I don’t see you coming up with any ideas,” James said. “We’ll just call the new position ‘you there’, shall we?”

“You’re in a very snotty mood today,” Adam said and James slumped under his look of gently concerned disapproval.

“James is disappointed in love, again,” Alastair announced. The reminder of this sorrow seemed to strike a guilty chord within him and he put the rest of the sausage roll back on James’ plate. 

James said, “I don’t want it _now_.”

“Things gone tits up with Hannah?” Adam was saying, sympathetically, and Harry escaped to the bar.

“Mine’s a -” Merlin came up next to him, tablet still clutched in his hand and coat still on, and scrutinised the pumpclips “- Worcester Sorceror, thanks.”

Harry added it to his round and turned to Merlin. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, fine,” Merlin said, sounding distracted. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve ruled out Leodegrance and Lucan and are about to investigate the back half of the alphabet,” Harry said, mopping a spill with a bar towel before leaning over with a couple of notes. “And one for yourself, Matty, thank you.”

“Arthur already decided, but as long as they’re enjoying themselves,” Merlin said. The tablet disappeared into a pocket and Merlin picked up two of the pints and ferried them back to the table.

“... and then she called me a cockwombling fuckstick and now she’s not picking up when I ring her,” James was finishing up when they sat back down, Merlin hooking a stool with his foot and swinging it over and himself onto it in one smooth motion.

“What a shame,” Adam said, raising his eyebrow at Harry just slightly too high to be mere thanks for the drink. “She sounds delightful.”

***

Harry was in the workroom with Christopher discussing the vexing behaviour of the newer generation bulletproof fabric (“They never think to ask me about seaming until they're finished,” Christopher said, sorrowfully) when there was a knock and Eggsy poked his head round the door. 

“Hi, is this still - Harry! Hi.”

“Hello, Eggsy,” Harry said. He smiled automatically, now, when he saw Eggsy, and Eggsy was always smiling back. “What brings you here?”

“Mr Unwin is having a suit fitted,” Christopher said. He was smiling at Eggsy, too, and Harry remembered, with a vague shock at the reminder of Eggsy’s past with them, that he’d met Eggsy, before; that they’d got on. “Winter weight grey worsted twill, single breasted with a narrow lapel, close fitted trouser, all quite modern. It's coming along nicely.”

“Confident,” Harry said approvingly. 

“It's not -” Eggsy waved a hand at Harry's Kingsman pinstripe and tie. “Merlin thought it'd be nice to get a suit out of it.”

“I'm sure,” Harry said. He glanced back at Christopher, who was watching them with a faint, inscrutable smile. “Where are we with Eggsy's suit?”

“He's here for the forward,” Christopher said. “It's hanging up in fitting room two, Sir, if you'd like to go down.”

Harry twitched the measuring tape hanging around Christopher's neck into his own hands. “I'll take care of it. As long as you don't object, of course?”

“No,” Eggsy said. “Yeah, that's… fine.”

“Good,” Harry said briskly. “I'll be down in five minutes.”

Christopher was still giving him that look as Eggsy disappeared back down the hall. “What?” Harry said. “Does me good to keep my hand in.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Christopher said.

Eggsy was preening anxiously in the triple mirror when Harry knocked softly and stepped inside. The suit was indeed coming along nicely: the sleeves were still the skeleton, the collar yet to be finished, the lines of stitching tracing the planes of Eggsy’s body, skimming him and remaking him, just a little, impeccably cut to show off Eggsy's shoulders and his flat stomach while giving an illusion of a narrower waist than he possessed. Harry rather missed the stocky silhouette of his boiler suit; he wanted to see Eggsy as he was.

“It’s looking good,” he said, stepping up behind Eggsy.

Eggsy met his gaze in the mirror. “Yeah? It feels good, but I don’t really know, do I? I got suits but not like this.”

“I should think not,” Harry said. “There’s nothing like a bespoke suit. Your first should be special.”

Eggsy smiled a little at that, ruefully. “I never even wore a suit before uni. Or, once, I think. Mum borrowed it for me, for court. Bet you never had to learn what to do with your hands when you’re wearing a suit, did you?”

Harry heroically resisted the impulse to look down at his hands. “You don’t do anything with your hands when you’re wearing a suit.”

“Well, I know that _now_ ,” Eggsy said.

Harry put his hands on Eggsy’s shoulders, turned him a little and chalked a couple of alterations to the vents at the back, so the suit would show off Eggsy’s arse to best effect. Not - he noted with as professional an eye as he was capable of - that Eggsy’s arse needed the help. Eggsy relaxed under his touch and Harry said, “As with most things in life, the key to carrying off a bespoke suit is confidence. Nothing complicated.”

“Yeah, maybe not for you,” Eggsy said. “I didn’t know you actually did this. The tailoring.”

His tone held a tentative invitation. Harry looked at him in the mirror again and said, “Not all the agents do, although everyone knows enough to fake a sales patter, at least. I like it. Christopher was just finishing his apprenticeship when I joined Kingsman and they thought it would be rather good for him to have someone to teach. There’s something very peaceful about the process of making a suit.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy said, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. “Maybe I should learn, I could do with a bit of peace.”

“You know where you are with a suit,” Harry said. “There’s not much uncertainty. You can see how it’s going, and then at the end you’ve made something that wasn’t there before, and everyone tells you how nice it looks.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually articulated that before. Eggsy was the one standing in an unfinished suit and a borrowed shirt flung on just to check the lines, but Harry felt exposed, like one tug on unfinished stitching that could unravel the whole bloody thing.

“You like knowing something’s been a success,” Eggsy said, frowning a little, as if he were sure.

“Well, no more than the next man, I expect,” Harry said. “But yes. The work we do is extremely valuable, but we’re not thanked for it.” He thought of his newspaper headlines, the private boast of them. “Usually if it’s done right, nobody even knows there was anything to be thanked for.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said. He tried to fiddle with his cuffs, which were wholly unfinished. Harry tapped the back of his hand and he sighed and stopped. Eggsy’s skin was bare and warm and smooth; Harry had a vividly sensual flash of how it would feel to take his hand, to have the time to be tender with him. “I never expected to do anything, yeah? Just me knowing I've made a difference is enough.”

“It’s probably a better attitude than mine,” Harry admitted. “Easier, certainly.”

The room felt very small for such a big conversation. Harry stepped away to the file that went with Eggsy’s suit and made a couple of notes on the pattern. The Kingsman trademark was the double-breasted suit, but he could see why Christopher had gone for the single-breasted to begin with; it would need some tweaking for Eggsy to look his best in the more classic cut.

Eggsy said behind him, “It’s a bit weird, innit, if Christopher taught you tailoring, calling you ‘sir’? I didn’t know what to say when he did it to me just now. Feels a bit wrong, getting called sir by a bloke his age.”

“At this point in time you’re a customer,” Harry said, amused. “He’s traditional that way. But when you get Kay, Eggsy, you’ll be senior staff. Age has nothing to do with that.”

“I’m all right with that,” Eggsy said, not sounding entirely positive he was. “I did all that leadership stuff in cadets.” Harry stepped back over to him. Eggsy’s gaze caught his again in the mirror, irresistible and lingering, and Harry smoothed the line of the jacket down over his hips, knelt and checked the hems and the break over the oxfords he was wearing. 

“Harry,” Eggsy said softly and Harry looked up at him. “You still think it’s when? When I get Kay?”

“Of course,” Harry said. He stood up and the desire to pull Eggsy close was so great it was nearly a physical ache. “I’ve no doubts at all.”

He picked the file back up and held it to his chest. “That’s everything. Not so bad, is it, getting fitted up? You can change back into your own things.”

“Okay,” Eggsy said. His gaze was bridling with sudden awareness of what Harry had been thinking; he looked alive with hope and pleasure, the sort of expression it gave Harry a secret warmth to have been the reason for. “Thanks, Harry.”


End file.
